


Paper

by sloganeer



Series: 1, 2, 3, 4, tell me that you love me more [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anniversary, Domestic Bliss, Future Fic, Husbands, M/M, barely managed anxiety issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 16:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19890739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: The note fell over when he threw the covers off. He stood and stared down at it, hands on his hips. Without his glasses or his contacts, David had to squint to see the shape of the heart. Now it just looked like a sloppy circle.-This is year 1.





	Paper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leupagus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/gifts).



> Leupagus just wrote an anniversary fic, and then I looked up the list of traditional gifts for each year, and well, now this is a project.

There was a note on Patrick’s pillow when David woke up. It was a piece of paper from the magnetic pad that lived on their fridge door, the one they used to write up shopping lists and yell at each other about missing leftovers. The paper was folded in half, standing up like an A-frame cabin, the letter D written in the middle of a clumsily-drawn heart.

Still, Patrick didn’t often write David notes. Patrick wasn’t often gone long enough to miss David waking up in the morning. This was something new, and even the heart didn’t quell David’s anxiety.

He didn’t hear any sound in the apartment. They had finally convinced the landlord to replace their ancient refrigerator, so even that low-level hum was gone. Patrick was gone. David was alone. 

The note fell over when he threw the covers off. He stood and stared down at it, hands on his hips. Without his glasses or his contacts, David had to squint to see the shape of the heart. Now it just looked like a sloppy circle.

He waited. He wanted the door to open, wanted Patrick to come home, sweaty, panting, eager for some fun in the shower. But David couldn’t read the clock to see what time it was, so he made himself some coffee instead.

He left the note on the pillow, face down where it lay.

First, before David could boil the water and grind the beans, he had to rearrange the kitchen. It had been an ongoing thing. They didn’t fight about a lot—how many servings of vegetables were required daily, what activities were appropriate for date night—but the longest, most persistent fight of their relationship, by far!, was the placement of the coffee maker in the kitchen. 

Patrick argued that because he did the majority of their cooking (which David argued was overly generous: the Café did the majority of their cooking), he should be allowed to organise the appliances and implements. David conceded the lower cupboards to Patrick. But he had claimed the sliver of counter space between the stove and the fridge, as well as the narrow shelf above for his Chemex pour over set and Baratza burr grinder. The size of the counter was useless for cooking prep, and besides, it was closest to the freezer, where they kept their beans.

“And!” David had explained, holding up a finger before Patrick could retort, “I even let you have the shorter shelf for your tea things.”

Patrick had rolled his eyes, but he had also kissed him, and then they went out for dinner because it was roast turkey night at the Café. David had assumed the matter was settled. He even started to enjoy his morning routine. 

But a few days later, still asleep, but on his feet, no contacts yet, David wandered into their kitchen and couldn’t find his grinder. He checked his closet, and his shoe rack, then their charging station, but nothing else was missing. Who the fuck would break in, then only steal a coffee maker?

So he texted Patrick, who was already at the store, and when his husband got around to replying, seven minutes later, David sprang up from the couch and went to check the lower cupboard beside the fridge. 

He texted back NOT FUNNY, and David seriously thought about erasing all the 2019 Toronto Raptors playoff games Patrick had saved to their DVR. But then his husband texted him a gif of Chris Evans holding his chest while laughing, so David dropped the remote, put the kitchen back in order, then made his coffee.

Now it was a game they played. Patrick moved his things, David moved them back, and whoever got frustrated first was dragged to the couch, and blowjobs make everything better.

David was grinding his beans when Patrick returned from his morning run, so he missed the sound of the door opening and the keys being hung on their hook. He missed all the warnings, and so he jumped and flailed and spilled coffee grounds all over himself and the kitchen when his husband wrapped his arms around David’s waist.

“Asshole!” he yelled, but there wasn’t time for anything more creative than that because Patrick manoeuvred him against the counter and pulled him down for a kiss.

“…what?” David asked, once Patrick let him speak.

“Happy anniversary, baby.” Patrick was red and sweating, now that David got a good look at him. He was glowing, though. He looked so happy.

“Oh,” David whispered. “Paper,” he said, brain catching up to his wonderful husband. “So it was a good note.”

Patrick’s forehead wrinkled, and he reached past David to grab the towel from the stove to wipe himself off. “You didn’t read it,” he said.

“I needed coffee first,” David told him, and he wriggled away, back to the kettle, which was steaming, ready. “Just in case.”

“Just in case I woke up and decided to divorce you by note?”

“I don’t know!” He kept his hands busy so they wouldn’t give him away, but his voice was harder to control. It got loud and high-pitched; it made him sound like the spoiled 13-year-old he used to be.

David poured the boiling water through what was left of his ground coffee. He tried to go slow, but everything in his body was running too fast. He tried to breathe through his nose, but all he could smell was Patrick after his morning run.

And then he felt Patrick’s hand on his back, a damp warmth through his T-shirt, a soft pressure between his shoulder blades. 

“Good morning, my love,” Patrick said. David stayed quiet. “Sleep as long as you want because I have plans for you when I get back. If you stay in bed, I might even make your coffee for you and let you have that shelf. Love always, your husband.”

David set the kettle back into its base. He tilted his head back until he felt Patrick kiss his neck. He reached down for the hand on his hip and lifted it to his mouth.

“So what you’re saying is I should’ve read the note.”


End file.
